The alarm rang at 7:30 PM.
Raven Altair opened his eyes without a transition between sleep and wakefulness. There was no sleepy blink, no lazy stretching. His hand moved to the nightstand, turning off the alarm with one precise touch. The ceiling of his studio apartment stared back at him, the white paint dull and cracked in the corners. he lay there for five seconds, letting his body fully recover, then got up.
he went to the bathroom. he did his usual routine: brushing his teeth, combing the black hair that always fell over his face. he looked in the mirror, his dark eyes expressionless, his face unfriendly but not hostile either. Like the undisturbed surface of water.
Once finished, he went to the kitchen. he prepared a piece of toast, peanut butter, and a glass of water. he ate standing, staring blankly out the window of his third-floor apartment overlooking the highway. The city lights were starting to come on one by one. The hustle and bustle of the afternoon rush hour—people returning from work, rushing home, to their families, to the warmth.
Raven felt nothing at the sight.
Neither envy nor sadness. he was simply empty.
He chewed the last of the bread and swallowed it, then washed the dishes mechanically, dried them with a towel, and put everything back in its place. Everything in the same order every day.
8:15 PM. Time to go to work.
That night, in the octagon ring in the basement of an old building—the concrete walls were sweaty, the smell of blood and stale sweat lingered in the air. Spotlights dazzled from above, the rest was dark. The crowd screamed, money changed hands, bets were placed.
Raven stood in the center of the ring. Before him stood a large man with a scar across his eyebrow—a street fighter with a reputation for being sadistic. People called him "Hatchet."
Hatchet grinned, punching the air twice. "Are you sure you want to fight me, kid?"
Raven didn't answer. His eyes locked on his target—Hatchet's left knee, which bent slightly when he stepped. It was an old injury not everyone knew about, but he'd gotten it from an informant.
The bell rang.
Hatchet charged, a wild haymaker from the right. Raven stepped into range, avoiding the punch with a slight angle, then a hard elbow slammed into Hatchet's ribs.
Bones crunched but didn't cause any damage. Hatchet winced, reflexively swinging an elbow back.
Raven was gone—he'd spun low, landing a brutal low kick to Hatchet's left knee.
The big fighter staggered.
Raven didn't stop. No pause, no mercy. A rapid-fire combination—jab to the liver, hook to the jaw, knee strike to the chin as Hatchet doubled over in pain. Hatchet's head was thrown back. His body was unsteady.
And in that moment—as he watched Hatchet stagger, blood at the corner of his lip—Raven felt something.
Not victory, not satisfaction.
Just life.
Like his heart was finally beating after hours of numbness.
Hatchet fell. The referee raised Raven's hand. The crowd cheered and cursed—half in loss, half in admiration. Raven took off his gloves, took the envelope of cash from the promoter, and left without a word.
Outside, the city night swallowed him back.
And the emptiness returned.
Now .
a 24-hour convenience store at the end of a deserted shopping district. A small building with green-and-white neon lights flashing irregularly. Raven pushed open the glass door, and the doorbell rang.
"Night shift, Altair," greeted Mr. Danang, the afternoon shift he was replacing. He was a middle-aged man with a potbelly and tired eyes. "Quiet tonight. Just a few drunk customers and high school kids buying cigarettes."
Raven nodded curtly and took her place behind the cashier.
Mr. Danang grabbed his bag, yawned widely, and then walked away.
The shop door closed behind him.
Ring.
The bell above the door rang once more.
Then there was silence.
Just the hum of the air conditioner, the buzz of the neon lights, and the occasional car passing by on the street.
Raven sat on a high stool behind the cashier, staring at the neatly arranged shelves of snacks and drinks. Night shift—9:00 PM to 6:00 AM. Nine hours sitting in this tiny box, serving the occasional half-drunk or insomniac customer, replenishing stock, cleaning the floor.
Boring.
Numbing.
But it was what he needed to pay the rent and remain invisible. A job that didn't require excessive interaction. A job he could do while his brain turned itself off.
The clock read 9:47 PM.A customer entered—a salaryman with a loose tie—buying a can of beer and rice balls. No eye contact. Paying with exact change. Leave.
10:15 PM. A teenage couple bought condoms and energy drinks. The girl giggled, the guy nervous. Raven scanned the barcode expressionlessly, gave them their change, and they left.
11:30 PM. Complete silence.
Raven stood up and began making his rounds.
he checked the shelves one by one, making sure there were no expired products at the front, then straightened the messy rows of magazines.
His hands moved automatically.
His mind went blank.
Then…
he felt it.
Cold.
Not the chill from the air conditioning. Nor the night breeze when the automatic doors opened.
This was different.
It was as if the air in the room had suddenly thinned.
As if something was wrong—at the most primal level of his instincts.
Raven stopped in the middle of the snack aisle. Goosebumps prickled at the back of his neck.
The doorbell rang.
He turned.
A woman entered. In her late twenties, dressed formally—black blazer, pencil skirt, heels. Long hair neatly tied back. A beautiful but pale face, like someone who hadn't slept in days.
But what stopped Raven were her eyes.
Empty.
Not empty like bored or tired. Empty like there was nothing alive behind them. Like a moving doll.
The woman walked slowly down the hallway, her steps too regular—like a metronome.
Click. Click. Click.
Her heels on the tile floor.
Raven watched from the end of the hallway. His instincts—honed in the underground ring—screamed that something was wrong.
The woman stopped in front of the liquor shelf.
She picked up a bottle of red wine, twirled it slowly in her hand, reading the label with unblinking eyes.
Then…
she smiled.
It was the wrong smile.
Too wide,Too neat,and The point too sharp.
"You felt it, didn't you?"
The woman's voice suddenly echoed—clear, calm—though she hadn't turned around.
"The cold and The emptiness."
She paused, as if savoring the silence between her words.
"Like something is pulling at you from within."
Raven didn't answer.
His hands moved slowly to his pants pockets. Not searching for a weapon—there wasn't one—just a defensive reflex that had just kicked in.
The woman finally turned around.
Her empty eyes locked on Raven's.
"You're different from them," she continued, her voice melodic but hollow. "You've been empty from the start. That's why you can sense us."
The air inside the convenience store thickened. The neon lights flickered—once, twice.
"Us?" Raven finally spoke, his voice flat.
The woman took a step forward—one, two, three—too softly, almost silently, as if she weren't actually touching the floor but hovering faintly above it.
"Lost spirits," she said softly, her smile unfading, "the hungry ones, the ones looking for a way out in your world."
The lights flickered again—this time going out for two seconds. When they came back on, the woman was standing directly in front of the cashier. Only two meters away.
Raven didn't see her move.
His heartbeat quickened—the first time tonight he felt anything other than emptiness. But not fear or panic.
Adrenaline.
"You're attractive to us," the woman whispered, her head tilted at an unnatural angle—too far to the right. Her neck bones crackled. "An empty soul is like a vessel waiting to be filled. Perfect to be occupied."
Her eyes changed. The brown disappeared, replaced by a deep, jet black—empty, like a bottomless pit. Raven didn't back down. he gripped the edge of the register, resisting the instinctive urge to run.
"Get out," he said coldly. "Or I'll call the police."
The woman laughed, her voice distorted, overlapping like several voices speaking at once. "The police can't see us," she said mockingly. "No one can. Except…" She held out a hand. Her fingers looked too long, her nails black and pointed. "those already standing on the threshold."
The lights went out completely.
It was pitch black.
Raven heard breathing—not his own. Wet, heavy breaths, too close to his ear.
Then a whisper.
"Run, human child. Or join us."
The lights came back on with a loud pop—one bulb exploded, shards of glass scattering.
The convenience store was empty.
No woman. No trace. Only Raven, standing alone behind the cashier, breathing a little faster than usual.
The wine bottle she'd been holding was on the floor—but not broken. Just lying there, label facing up.
Raven stared at it for a long moment.
Then slowly, he pulled out his phone. Checked the store's CCTV cameras through an app.
Playback of the last 10 minutes.
The video showed an empty convenience store. No woman entered. No bell rang. Just Raven, standing alone in the snack aisle, staring at the door.
It was as if he were speaking to empty air.
Raven turned off his phone. he stared at the wine bottle on the floor.
For the first time in his numb, routine life, he smiled faintly.
Finally.
Something different.